


Let's Dance

by SouthernKittyGal



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Flirting, Lil fistfight at one point, M/M, Pole Dancing, Stancest - Freeform, also sexiness, cuteness, lap dance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5238128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernKittyGal/pseuds/SouthernKittyGal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley moves to the west coast in his earlier years, getting a job where, unbeknownst to him, his brother also works.<br/>Stanford secretly maintains a side job as a dancer in a club to help pay college funds.<br/>Stanford plays with Stanley, and gets himself stuck in a rut as they both fall for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Stanley first got hired, he couldn’t believe it.

He’d gotten kicked out of his home around about three, four years ago when he had accidentally broken his twin brother’s science project, and broken his chances of getting into the college best suited to his intellect. Stanley had apologized, of course, but apologies are just a band-aid over a broken bone without the return of forgiveness. So, without much say in the matter, he had to learn to survive on his own, with no family, no money, and little to no possessions.

It felt like it’d been more than just a few years ago, decades rather. Stanley had been all over the country since leaving New Jersey, and (attempted) to make a life selling cheap knock-off brands of things. With each failed product came the banning from whatever state he was currently in. His options were beginning to dwindle, and he soon found himself on the West coast.

That was fine with him. If there was ever a place he wouldn’t see his brother, it’d be here, for sure.

He tried to ignore how that thought made his heart ache.

“Mr. Pinesfeld? Are you still there?”

The voice on the phone brought him out of his daze and he started, “What? Yeah! Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Good. We are particularly low on work at this time, so do you think you could come in on Friday?”

“This Friday? Friday, yeah, I can do Friday!” Stan felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“All right, we can talk here then. I look forward to meeting with you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely! You too!” He hung up from the call and fist pumped the air, grinning so wide his face could break. He got a job! It felt hard to believe, due only to his lack of work experience, but Stan’s heart soared with excitement and absolute joy. All he had to do was keep it now. He had no idea how tedious or difficult it might be, but he really needed it, and he was determined to make sure this opportunity didn’t slip away.

He’d make something good of himself this time.

-

Friday rolled around soon enough, and Stanley had cleaned himself up as much as a man living out of his car possibly could. His forming mullet was combed through, but it needed to be washed - or better yet, cut. He’d washed his face some but couldn’t do anything about his beard, or the clothes he had.

Feeling a tad awkward, he entered the club, eyes taking in the sleek appearance of it all. The flashy lights hurt his eyes, and he regretted for the millionth time not grabbing his glasses when he left home.

The dancers were… interesting. The genders varied, some having their own gimmick or theme, and both men and women gathered to watch and indulge themselves. Some of them were pretty, but none stuck out to him significantly. One noticed him and winked through blond hair hanging in her face.

Stanley quirked a slight grin and then skimmed over the club again before going up to one of the workers and asking for the manager.

She came out to him, dark hair up in a loose bun and a light smile playing on her lips, “I’m Natisha Williams. You must be Stanley Pinesfeld.”

The two shook hands, Stan feeling completely alight with excitement and stomach turning with a touch of anxiety. “Yep, that’s me! Nice place ya got runnin’ here.”

“Thank you. We may be a strip club but we try to keep the place clean and presentable.” Her eyes slid over him, assessing his own appearance. A young woman behind the bar counter cleaned glasses, back to them but head tilted slightly, listening.

Stanley shifted his foot weight and felt the need to defend himself as he was scrutinized, “I’ve been, ah, without water these past couple days at my apartment. It makes it kind of hard to clean up…” He scratched at his beard, eyes casting aside.

Natisha finally met his eyes, and hummed, “We have showers here, if you’d like to use them. They’re typically for the dancers to use after work, but I… suppose I could make an exception…” Her words came slow, brows furrowed with wariness. It didn’t take more than a moment to realize what her issue was.

He frowned a little, even if he could understand, “I wouldn’t do anything with the dancers or get in their way. I’d just shower and be out, that’s it.”

She crossed her arms, fingers drumming against her elbow, before nodding and motioning for him to follow her. She gave him some clean work clothes and instructed him on what to do, leaving him to his own devices.

Luckily, the showers were enclosed and private, but Stanley still freshened quickly. He was eager to get to work and start making some money.

And make money he did. He caught on quickly, figuring out how things worked and what drinks were most popular and how to make them. He found it a bit difficult at first, but with the practice of making each drink, came more ease. Enjoying himself and finding it to come a bit easier over time, Stanley couldn’t help but grin. Ladies and even some men would give him interested looks, admiring the way his black button-down shirt fit his body, and how his long, dark brown hair had been pulled into a ponytail. He looked sleek and fun, which was exactly Stanley’s style.

“Hey, Stanley, one starstruck cocktail for the young lady over here. I gotta get her food.”

“You got it, Susan!” Stanley mixed the ingredients easily, having to pause a moment to look for the strawberry syrup. From behind him he could hear someone announcing the arrival of a new dancer. Paying it no mind - there were plenty of popular dancers that would get their own announcements from time to time - Stanley continued with the task at hand.

Stanley mixed the drink and poured it into a glass, turning and nearly dropping it along with his jaw when he saw the dancer currently on stage.

He had a black cloak tied across his shoulders and tight, skin fitting black pants that showed off… a lot. Closed eyes were framed by a gold mask that spiked up at one end and glinted in the lights. Mocha brown hair was combed and spiked, hanging down in his face and over the spikes of the mask. Large black gloves adorned his hands, going up his forearms.

He spun around one of the poles on the stage expertly, one bent leg clinging to it. The dancer’s head fell back, eyes closed and neck bared as his cloak pooled onto the ground under him, showing his bare sides and chest. The dancer rolled his body forward until he was pressed flush against the pole, and Stanley caught sight of the dark lips curved into a smile.

The dancer was, in a word, flawless.

Stanley licked his lips, mouth dry as he watched him continue to twist his body and swing around the pole in elaborate, graceful moves. One leg wrapped around the pole at the knee, and in a single, swift move, the dancer had spun around and discarded his cloak. Stanley saw it floating through the air behind him, falling to rest on the stage and the dancer’s chest was completely bare, and all Stanley could think about was running his hands along those slightly curved, slender sides and his face buried against that bared neck, kissing and sucking, and hips-

“Sir?” The noise of the club returned with the speed of a freight train, hitting Stanley so hard that he had to press a hand to the counter, feeling dizzy. He looked at the young dame in front of him and covered up his flounder by leaning against the counter with the offer of a crooked grin. “Yes?”

She was watching him with a touch of amusement, red hair hanging down around her face and chin in her hand. She’d been watching him as his mind wandered away. “You have my drink.”

Stanley blinked at her owlishly and then looked at the cool glass in his hand. “That I do.” He held his smile, willing away the nagging embarrassment inside, and set the cup in front of her. Leaving quickly, he chastised himself. He needed to keep his head on straight! He needed this job and he couldn’t let any distractions ruin that!

With a deep breath, Stanley returned to work, trying to focus on the small orders being placed; Vodka, on the rocks, a shot of whiskey, two strawberry-lime margaritas. Stanley began keeping his eyes down, or to the side, anywhere but the stage. Distracted, he knocked a bottle or glass over once or twice, but, luckily, nothing broke or happened to spill.

Within time, orders came in slower and the music died out. The club slowly began to clear of people. Stanley relaxed as most of the dancers seemed to leave, diving to get a rag and some counter cleaner. When he rose he did not yelp, and certainly did not begin to blush, seeing the dancer from earlier leaning against the counter. He still wore his mask, and gave an amused smirk.

Stanley cleared his throat a little, spraying the counter and starting to rub at the polished wood, “Can I get you anything?” He kept his eyes down.

“Just water, please.” Stanley nodded, abandoning his current task to get a glass of water. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Setting the drink in front of the other, Stan bobbed his head yes, “As of tonight, yeah.”

He earned a slow nod. Eyes he could now see to be a warm, deep, cognac brown watched him intently, evaluating. Stanley was the first to look away, breathing out a long, deep breath through his nose and refocusing on cleaning the counter. After a long sip of water, the young dancer asked, “What’s your name?”

Stanley paused at the question, glancing up to meet the other’s gaze a second. Again, he was the first to look away. “Stanley. Stanley Pinesfeld. And… And you?”

“Ford. I go by Ford Simmons.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford decides to play a small "joke" on his brother, but it doesn't feel like a joke and maybe he secretly wanted to do this..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no chapter names but this one could be called "Playing with Fire." The song is "Something in the Way You Move" by Ellie Goulding (if yall got suggestions for club songs, I'd love to hear them. If they're good they might make it in the fanfic here). Third chapter will return in a week (11/27).

The two held a gaze for a long moment, and Ford’s heart beat like a drum, pounding so hard he swore it was the reason for his shaking hands.

Of all the damned places, Stanley just had to find Stanford here. He hadn’t seen his brother in… Perhaps going on three years now, and yet he still managed to find his way back to him. He seemed to be doing better now; granted, he had a mullet, but he looked nice. Stanford looked down at his water, watching the ice cubes and feeling his brother’s eyes on him. He waited for the criticism, the judgement. He was sitting in front of his twin in… in this _ridiculous_ attire and having been doing even more ridiculous, scandalous things.

Yes, sometimes Stanford felt ashamed of this… ah, hobby. But he’d found how much he liked it over time. It made him feel powerful, bold, _untouchable_. Not to mention, he’d lost weight doing it, and was probably more in shape than ever before. Sure, he hated that plenty of people were seeing so much of his skin and body, but the mask took care of that. His mask… was the barrier. Without the mask, he was Stanford Pines, phenomenal college student. With the mask, he was Ford Simmons, true identity concealed. He was the Sexer, working the pole through the night and earning more than enough money to keep him in college and both he and his roommate well-fed.

But Ford Simmons… Was not someone he’d ever wanted his family to know. He was not someone he had wanted his _twin_ to know. But Stanley was smart, and he knew his twin. He had known his habits and eyes and body since birth. There was no way he could _not_ know who he was.

Stanford wished that his hands would stop sweating so much from under his gloves. His stomach turned nervously and Stanford ducked his head to take a long sip of his water, unable to make eye contact as he waited for the lecture.

But from his peripheral vision he only saw Stanley nod, “Nice. So you’re a dancer?”

Stanford looked up across the bar at the other. He couldn’t read Stanley’s expression, it was hard to tell with the way he kept constantly looking down, but Ford sensed no disgust or disappointment. He studied him now, surprised he wasn’t more upset. “Ah, yes. I am.”

Another nod, eyes boring holes into the bartop as he scrubbed at an invisible stain with the rag in his hand.

Had he not realized just who he was? Stanford felt his anxiety melt away and bit back a snort at the absolute irony and humor of the situation. Instead, he smirked, leaning forward slowly with his chin in hand. “You know… A dancer usually gives a newbie here a treat…”

The look on Stanley’s face was utterly priceless, eyes widened just a fraction and beginning to flush red from under his stubbly beard, “...Uhh… What…?”

Stanford chuckled, deciding to himself that he’d play a little, tease Stanley for now. Besides, teasing was what Ford was best at. “You know, I could give you a dance… of some sort. Think of it as a ‘Welcome to the Club.’”

Stanley snorted at the pun, but Ford could make out the hints of a smile. “Depends… Would the boss be okay with that?”

The elder sibling rose a brow, not that it could easily be seen, and then grinned. He turned his head to call over, “Hey, Natisha!”

She called back from across the room, Ford repressing laughter as he saw how Stanley tensed and hissed that it was fine and he really didn’t need to ask. “You alright with me giving the newbie a dance?”

“Go for it, Sexer!” Ford chuckled and looked back to his brother, who had quickly composed himself. He took a long drink of his water before sliding off the barstool, “How do you want it?”

Stanley was watching him, twisting the rag in his hands and having not moved from his spot, “How do I want… what…?” He was tense, Stanford realized, dark eyes trained on himself, “And how much do you want in return? I ain’t exactly the rich type.”

“A dance, and you don’t owe anything, it’s on the house.”

“A dance?” His voice sounded thick, a low, dumbfounded mumble, like he couldn't believe the offer.

Stanford felt the confidence of Ford Simmons returning, even as his realistic side screamed of morals and common sense. He found himself easily drowning it out, and only gave a nod, murmuring, “A dance.”

This was alright. He’d tease Stanley, joke around with him before coming out, explaining that it was really him, his brother. A dance couldn’t hurt anything, and even if it did, it wasn’t like he and Stan had the strongest relationship in the first place.

What did he really have to lose? Besides, it was just a joke, right?

He fell quiet, allowing his twin a moment to think, watching how his throat worked. As he considered the option, Stanford briefly took in his appearance and how he’d changed. His once slim figure had earned a bit more pudge, a bit more gut, and a stubbly beard ran along his jaw. Hair once slicked back and cut now had grown long and wild into a thick mullet, though Stanley had pulled his hair into a long ponytail.

He… actually didn’t look bad. He cleaned up surprisingly nice, withholding a raggedly handsome appearance.

“Sure… Uh…” Stanford’s mind returned to earth, noticing how his brother rubbed at the back of his neck and seeming almost… awkward? “A dance, yeah… Do you do, er, lap dances?”

Stanford felt blood rise in his cheeks, albeit faintly, “Lap dances? Yes, on occasion. And I... suppose this is an occasion…” He paused briefly before offering a hand out to Stanley. The younger twin glanced at it, to Ford’s face, and then took it. Ford wondered, as his twin walked out from around the bar to stand with him, if he could feel his extra finger, squished together with another in the five-fingered glove.

He wondered how Stanley would end up taking this joke, and what Stanley would think of his dancing for money. Would he be ashamed, or disgusted? And what would Stanley think of his brother’s nonchalant willingness to give him a lap dance?

In all honesty, just how _little_ giving Stanley a lap dance bothered Stanford… Bothered Stanford. He should be completely put off, telling his brother that it was him, and how absolutely odd it was that Stanley would find him here. This was wrong, all wrong. Disgusting and revolting and unacceptable and completely, undeniably _unforgivable._

But that was only considering society’s views and morals, not Stanford’s own, and why should he listen to anyone else? He knew what he was doing, he didn’t need anyone else holding him back.

Stanford decided to think more about it later and instead focus on the task at hand. He moved to stand in front of Stanley, trying to quell the excited, anxious feeling inside him. “Soos,” Ford called over his shoulder, “Play one more song.”

“You got it, Mister Simmons!” The younger man chirped back.

Stanford took a deep breath, hearing the song whir to life. He slid down to his knees, closing his eyes and losing himself to the song.

_It’s the strangest feeling, feeling this way for you._

_There’s something in the way_ you move _, something in the way_ you move _._

The beat picked up and Stanford found himself relaxing, heart beating with the drums. It was so easy to just… let go. His body took on a mind of its own, hands moving along strong calves and brushing the backs of Stanley’s knees. Ford breathed out soft breaths, huffing shakily as he twisted his body, back against his brother’s legs. His hips rolled forward, spine curving, and then he looked up when he felt a large hand move under his chin, palm caressing his cheek.

Stanley’s eyes had darkened, pupils blown wide. Ford’s lips curled into a confident, lazy smirk.  He slid upward, their faces closing in for an upside down kiss. Stanley was leaning down, cheeks starting to darken some, and at the last moment, with only a few inches between them, Ford threw his head forward, spine arching again and black-clothed butt resting against Stanley’s thighs. He rocked back and rolled his hips down against him, looking back over his shoulder when he felt strong hands hooking under his thighs. They pulled him back, closer, and Ford shivered, feeling heat emanating from behind him.

Leaning back slowly, the dancer pressed his back to the other’s chest. He thrust his hips slightly with the beat, muttering the words to himself.

_But tonight I’m gonna lose it all._

_Playing with fire, I was the first to fall._

_Heart is sinking like a cannon ball,_

_Baby kill it, what’re you waiting for?_

He could feel stuttering hot breaths against his neck, and tilted his head the slightest, hair brushing against Stanley’s forehead. Ford twisted his body slowly, and with an effort he’d learned not to show. He wrapped his hands around Stanley’s necks, hips rocking downward with the beat. Lee’s throat worked and the last lines of the song played, bringing the dance to an end and leaving them both sweating.

Stanford exhaled a little shakily, trying to not show that he was a tad out of breath. Stanley, on the other hand, looked like a mess. His cheeks were flushed and shirt hiked up, pants riding low, revealing a bit of stomach that Ford refused to look down at and see.

He could also feel the definite workings of a hard-on under him.

“That good, Pinesfeld?” His lips quirked into a slight grin at the fake surname.

Stanley just swallowed and nodded a little quickly.

Chuckling, Ford peeled himself away and pressed a kiss to Stanley’s forehead, “Glad you liked it. Welcome to the club.”

He rose with a bit of a stretch, and walked off trying not to look back. His mind was blank with a facade of confidence that lasted until he was backstage, peeling off his gloves and unwrapping the bandages from two fingers. He fanned out his fingers, looking at the six of them, and then felt the bucket of iced water hit, assertiveness gone.

He’d just given his brother a lap dance.

He’d… just given… _his brother_ a _lap dance_!

Stanford felt his palms begin to sweat profusely and fumbled to grab a comb, dropping it and diving to the floor after it. Okay. Okay. So he’d given his brother a lap dance.

And the both of them had seemed to really enjoy it. And Stanford felt his cheeks burn as he realized he’d love to go back out there and do _more_.

But it’d all been a joke, though. Even if it didn't quite feel like one it was still... Just a joke. Right?

_…Right?_

...Oh, _God_ , what had he gotten himself into?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll see about updating this weekly, and will be sure to make a note if I change any ratings or anything but I'm pretty sure I've covered it all.


End file.
